Far From Home
by Soraki
Summary: Post HBP. Draco, alone and lost, finds his freedom in the least likely place. A quick fic.


**Title:** Far From Home  
**Author:** Soraki (as Draco) with a good friend (as Harry)  
**Rating:** PG or K+  
**Pairing:** None. Revolves around Harry and Draco.  
**Genre**: Drama  
**Chapter**: One-shot  
**Summary:** Post HBP. Draco, alone and lost, finds his freedom in the least likely place. A quick fic.

* * *

Hogwarts appeared bland this particular summer night, perhaps the death of its' arguably greatest Headmaster had taken the magic out of the wizarding school. The world had slowly spiraled into the battle that Dumbledore had always forewarned, and the burden of it fell solely on the shoulders of a plain looking 17 year old boy, Harry Potter. He had gotten hardly any sleep since this ordeal began, pulled in a million different directions by a million different forces all at once. The lack of rest had noticably taken its toll on the Boy Who Lived and at Hermione's urging, no, pleading, he had decided to take the evening off by visiting a special place of solace. Dressed in plain jeans and a zipped up track jacket, he trudged across the grass towards the pristine White Tomb. At this time of the day, he doubted there would be anyone there, but of course his wand was tucked neatly into his pocket nonetheless. Knowing his life, there were always surprises looming around the corner.

* * *

For the first time, Draco Malfoy was lost. He had no home to run back to and no name to hide under. He was alone, out in the open for anyone and everyone to see. He had managed to escape the eyes of the public for the majority of the summer, but no matter how well he hid, he could never ignore the scathing words. 

Wherever he turned, the Malfoy named was scorned. He was just as bad as father now, if not worse. Son of a convicted Death Eater and murderer of one of the most powerful wizard alive in centuries. His father would have been proud.

If he had still been sane.

Draco sat at the base of a tree, staring idly at the White Tomb before him. His father had always told him to think of the repercussions of his actions and not to blindly jump into things. That was a Gryffindor's job. A Slytherin was watchful, always on the lookout for opportunities to help themselves advance in their goals. His father was always meticulous in his actions.

And now he was sitting in Azkaban, rotting away as the dementors sucked away his sanity.

Draco let out a chocked laugh. That was the man he had always wanted to please. The man he always looked to for even the slightest sign of approval. Even when his father's actions had lost him his freedom, Draco still lived for him. And last year, Draco had almost gotten himself killed to protect him.

* * *

Harry approached the Tomb under the impression that he would be alone, this was apparently not the case. The figure leaning against the tree looked familiar, but it wasn't until closer inspection that the person's identity was revealed. A mix of shock, anger, and confusion swirled inside of him in a storm of mixed emotions. Harry had been there when Dumbledore was murdered, he had caught a brief glimpse of his mentor and guardian's untimely death at the hands of a person he had trusted. Harry had never come close to trusting Snape, but Dumbledore's faith in the man had inspired Harry to, at the bare minimum, tolerate the potions professor. Perhaps it was because Harry always had the hope that there was still good in Snape, and perhaps now as he stood watching Draco, he had the same hope for the boy. He must have, because as he drew his wand and aimed it at the blond, he knew that he simply couldn't bring himself to murder the other in cold blood, no matter how much the Slytherin had tormented him and no matter what crimes the other had committed.

Harry had to ask himself why Draco, of all people, would be here at Dumbledore's Tomb, of all places. The answer was so obvious he was surprised he had to even ask it-- Draco had no where else to go and no one else to turn to. The Death Eaters were certainly not happy with his inability to murder Dumbledore, and the Order would never take him in unless there was a damn good reason. So here he was in limbo, drifting somewhere in between good and evil, and probably drowning in sorrow all the same. And that's right, Draco hadn't murdered Dumbledore, a fact Harry jumped on. But even now, even as the events of the past six years robbed the innocence from both of them and transformed their lives into something completely unlike what they had to begin with, Harry couldn't help but feel like Draco Malfoy was the only person in the world who could most relate to him.

For all those reasons combined, he didn't fire off a certain Unforgivable spell, and instead, wearily approached the other.

"Wouldn't have thought to find you here of all people," he said when he could finally find his voice, hearing the bitterness in his tone. "Give me a good reason why I shouldn't end this here and now."

"Because you couldn't do it in the bathroom last year, and you can't do it now." Draco shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree, simply enjoying the gentle breeze. He brought his hand up to his chest, lightly tracing the scar from Harry's impulsive _Sectumsempra_ spell last year.

Draco opened his eyes let his gaze rest on the landscape of Hogwarts. The lush green grass and the thick forests of what he considered his second home. All gone because…he didn't even want to think about it anymore.

He brought his attention back to Harry, his gaze never leaving the scenery. "I didn't think you'd be here either, Potter. No damsel in distress to save today?"

"Possibly. But times have changed, Malfoy," Harry bit back. His words were honest, but there was no fire behind them and he knew it.

His arm wavered for a moment, wand still held in mid-air though not as tight as before.

"No, not unless Cho decides to have another emotional meltdown," he replied sardonically, brushing away Draco's offhand question. "School's out in case you hadn't gotten the memo, and there's a war raging out there somewhere. Shouldn't you be running around with your Death Eaters raising some hell, Malfoy? Or is this an intermission?"

"In case you have forgotten, Potter," Draco spat and turned his gaze to the teen standing before him. "I'm no longer exactly _welcome_ amongst the Dark Lord's ranks."

His grey eyes revealed nothing of what he really felt.

"And I have you to thank for that."

Neither did his words.

"I did what I had to do to stop you," Harry countered, "and you did what you had to do," his voice trailed off, eyes glancing over to Dumbledore's tomb to make his point.

"Well I can't say I pity you at all," he confessed, "you've been a rotten person. You're responsible for a lot of things, Malfoy, maybe some things a lot of people aren't aware of. The Ministry can't hold you responsible for Dumbledore's death, but they have you registered as a Death Eater. For that reason alone, you're a wanted criminal. And now, here you are ... back where it all started."

He paused. "Conveniently too, I might add." If Malfoy thought he would relent in his verbal onslaught, he was wrong. Harry felt so strongly when it came to Malfoy, memories of being bullied into submission by his Slytherin gang, dirty tactics on the Quidditch Field, fighting, jealousy, spite, and all the good things that came packaged in a rivalry. He felt the weight on his shoulders again, the weight that had been placed on him since that fateful night when Voldemort took the people he loved away from him. 17 years old and already at the forefront of perhaps the most dire battle in the history of the world.

"So ... what do we do now, Malfoy?" he asked with a sigh. "Where do we go from here?"

"Do as you wish, Potter." Draco stood from his spot under the tree and gave Harry a sarcastic bow. "I'm right here, at your mercy. A wandless Death Eater, just like the Ministry said. And you know what the ministry wants you to do."

He sauntered up to the Gryffindor. "You know what your options are, Potter. You could kill me, take me to the Ministry Aurors so they can kill me, or you could always try and convert me." He laughed at the thought, and pushed up the left sleeve of his robes, revealing the black tattoo burned onto his pale skin.

"But it's a little too late for that, now isn't it."

Draco stared straight into Harry's eyes. "Not so tough without the Weasel and the Mudblood, now are you?" He scoffed. "So, please. Spare me the heroics."

He turned his back on Harry and just started walking. He didn't know where he was going, or even where he could go. He just needed to get away. Run away.

"I'm not yours to save."

"That's what sets you and I apart, you see. Even if I had been sorted into Slytherin that first year, I'd have still been a different person than you. I'm not like you at all. We're so different from each other in that ... I'm not a coward," Harry let the last word hang in the air for added emphasis.

"There's no where else to run, before you know it, the war will be at your door. Better to surrender to me now than to let the Death Eaters get to you. You don't know what they're capable of," he said with a strange tone, thinking back to Neville's parents and Sirius. "Or perhaps you do, which makes my point all the more valid."

"You need to answer to the Ministry and to the people you've hurt. Whether I forgive you or not is an entirely different matter. You need to face your fate one way or another. Regardless, this is going to end here tonight," he said firmly, catching up to Draco and clamping his free hand on the other's shoulder to stop him in step.

"I'm not letting you walk away from me again."

Draco spun around and knocked Harry's hand off his shoulder. His eyes burned with cold fire. "I don't _need_ anything, Potter! Especially your permission to leave."

"You're not listening to me!" Harry bellowed, noticeably putting away his wand by opting to physically restrain Draco. He extended both hands and firmly yanked the Slytherin backwards. "Don't fight me," he warned. "This is your last warning."

During the escalation, Hermione, who had received an urgent message made out to Harry rushed out of Hogwarts and towards Dumbledore's tomb. Her approach was swift and graceful all the better considering how imperative the scroll she had in her hand was. The moon illuminated two bickering figures, one being Harry Potter and the other being ...

Draco Malfoy!

Her entire body went rigid, hand diving into the inside of her coat to fetch a slim wand that was aimed directly at the two below.

"Harry!" her voice broke through, mind frantically searching for what to do. "You need to get out of the way, I can't get a clear shot in!"

Draco was completely oblivious to the visitor, all his efforts focused on getting Harry off of him. He spun violently, trying to dislodge Harry's grip on him.

All of Draco's attempts were futile, as Harry was apparently physically stronger than him. He punched and he kicked, just wanting nothing more than to get away. He didn't need this. He didn't need Potter.

"Damn it, Potter. Let go of me! I AM NOT YOUR CHARITY CASE!"

Harry paused hitting Draco and instead grabbed him by the shoulders and threw them both onto the floor. It looked ridiculous at first, like two schoolboys going at it, but with the history between them two, it might as well have been a fight to the death using bare hands.

Hermione, now forced to make a decision that could decide the life of a dear friend, lifted her wand shakily. She was afraid to hit Harry, but she knew that waiting any longer could have potentially dire consequences. So it was here that she took a deep breath and said for the very first time, the dreaded words she hated to hear, "Avada Kedavra!"

"Hermione, NO!" Harry yelled as he saw the all too familiar menacing green light burst forth from her wand. But he knew that Draco was unaware of what was going on, and couldn't possibly manuever the two of them out of the way in time. It would only be seconds now, with both of them still taking shots at each other now, the spell could have impacted either one.

Draco didn't even see it coming, too focused on getting away from Harry. He felt the boy above him tense and took the opportunity to shove Harry up and off him.

Then it hit him, as green as the wide eyes staring down at him. And as the world faded to black, as his silver eyes faded to grey, he was granted the one thing he wanted the most. The one thing that nothing else—not the Death Eaters, the Order, Voldemort, Potter, or even Dumbledore himself—could have given him.

His freedom.


End file.
